Regression
by Jaycie Victory
Summary: Rory goes on a journey to figure out who she is. It just so happens to include Logan, Jess and Dean. Three objects; three relationships; three very different men. Set post-series. R/L R/J R/D Luke and Lorelai also appear.


**A/N This was originally intended as a Yuletide fic but this monster spiralled out of control and I've only finished it now. It's 13,500 words and change, so if you only like short one-shots run, run for your life!**

 **The story is set around five years after the series ended, so November/December 2012.**

 **A few further words of warning: this story explores Rory's psyche, especially in relation to her relationships with Logan, Dean and Jess. I wanted to get it out my system and published before the Netflix revival airs and probably undoes anything and everything I've written :p**

 **If you have strong feelings about who Rory is supposed to end up with, you may be disappointed.**

 **Another warning, I am a huge Dean apologist. I know he is pretty unpopular in the fandom but I never thought that was fair. If you loathe Dean and can't see any positives in him, you won't be a fan of this either.**

 **This is the first fic I've written for the Gilmore Girls fandom, and judging by how long it's taken me, it may be the last ;)**

 **Hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

 **Regression**

 **re·gression**

(rĭ-grĕs-uh n)

 **1.** The act of regressing, especially the returning to a previous, usually worse or less developed state.  
 **2.** The act of reasoning backward from an effect to a cause, or of continually applying a process of reasoning to its own results.

* * *

Arguably the whole thing could be blamed on LJ.

He was definitely the butterfly in this particular effect, though in his case it was kicking legs rather than beating wings that had sparked Rory into action.

Once LJ had learnt to walk, there was no stopping him. He was a determined explorer and, much to his father's horror, had his mother's total disregard for safety or consequence.

No part of the house was barred to him. Not even Rory's room.

Lorelai still tried to keep it sacrosanct, of course – not so much a shrine as a fixed point in time, something to come home to – but that wasn't possible with Jerry Lewis on the scene (first name Jerry, second name Lewis – something she never would have gotten away with if Luke hadn't been weakened by sixteen hours of her yelling at full volume and then softened by the post-partum wonder of holding his newborn son). Over time Jerry Lewis became Little Jerry, which became LJ, which had helped reconcile Luke to the whole thing. (Partly, Rory suspected, because most people thought it stood for Luke Junior, a mistake Luke did little to correct.)

LJ had his own room thanks to the extension Luke had built as part of his renovation work, complete with whiteboard walls and hand-carved toys. But for a kid with the perfect room, he spent very little time there; again much like his mother, he showed a definite tendency to go his own way... generally whichever way he wasn't supposed to.

So far he'd been found on top of a bookshelf, inside the dryer machine, and on one memorable occasion, standing in the toilet.

So it was no real surprise to find him stuck under her bed, legs kicking in the air as he bellowed.

To his credit, he seemed more annoyed than afraid.

Rory's main concern was how much grossness he'd probably covered himself in – that bed hadn't been moved for the better part of a decade.

Of course, if it had been up to Luke, the whole room would have been blitzed from floor to ceiling a long time ago, but after Lorelai named all the dust bunnies and invented their backstories, he'd been firmly forbidden from any deep cleans and had to content himself with surface ones when she was sleeping.

So, Rory fished LJ out (along with Lucy, Ricky and Ethel) and brushed him off, only to discover he had found something else down the back of the bed.

LJ being LJ, his immediate response had been to put it in his mouth.

"What you got there, champ?" She prised the object out, along with half a pound of saliva. "Yewtch."

A wave of recognition broke over her, so strong it felt like a punch.

Her heart lurched.

It was a bracelet.

Her bracelet.

Her Dean bracelet.

Jess must have put it back in her room without telling her… or possibly thrown it back, judging by where it had ended up.

It had been there all these years…

Suddenly panicked, she tucked her brother under one arm, threw the bracelet back under the bed and swiftly left the room.

She crept back an hour later, moving slowly and quietly, as if afraid of being heard.

Wriggling under the bed, she fished the bracelet back out and cleaned it off on her shirt.

It went into her Rory box, with the rest of her regrets.

It was six months before the box was opened again.

* * *

Rory sat on her bed sipping her cocoa.

In her 28 years she'd travelled to more than 40 states and probably sampled almost double that number of hot chocolate brands – not including the cioccolata calda she and Lorelai had gorged themselves on in Italy – but she'd never yet found one that beat Luke's.

Thick and comforting and swimming with marshmallows.

She could hear Ella Fitzgerald crooning in the background (along with Lorelai's deliberately off-key harmonising), she was stuffed to bursting with turkey and pumpkin pie, and Colonel Clucker was in her lap.

It was almost enough to warm your insides.

You know – if they hadn't been dead and cold and withered.

She huffed to herself and stuck out her lower lip. But it was less effective when there was no around to see it.

It was just the four of them for Thanksgiving (not including the prerequisite Emily Gilmore dinner they'd be going to tomorrow), but at one point it had looked like it might be five.

Lorelai had put out the feelers over whether Jason would be joining them that year, a not unnatural question considering they'd been together six months.

She'd let it go when Rory hemmed and hawed in response, but something in her silence had been knowing.

Looking back, the fact Lorelai had only met the guy twice the whole time they were dating pretty much told its own story.

They'd broken up three days later.

Rory had tried to feel sad about it, but the most she could summon was a vague sort of disappointment.

Yet, three weeks on, she still wasn't over it.

It wasn't heartbreak that stayed with her, it was his parting words, yelled over his shoulder as he stomped out her latest rental.

"Have a nice life, Rory. Not that you need encouraging, of course – it's not really possible to feel sad if you never really feel anything at all."

She wanted to dismiss the words as angry disappointment, a natural side-product of their relationship ending, but the break-up hadn't really drawn much anger from him, and even less from her; things had ended with a whimper, not a bang.

They'd been together six months yet the relationship had still felt brand new – and not in the shiny Madonna sense. What Jason had first termed her "elusiveness" and found charming became the source of several fights, with Jason becoming increasingly frustrated with Rory "playing hard to get" emotionally.

She hadn't been playing; it hadn't been a conscious thing at all. Thanks to her job and love of Stars Hollow, she was away from New York almost as much as she was in it, which didn't leave a whole lot of room for romance.

But the fact that that hadn't really bothered her... the fact she hadn't really noticed when he wasn't around, the fact she had allowed the relationship to break down around her ears...

Was he right?

Was she heartless?

Dead inside like that Disney character LJ had recently become so obsessed with (to the point both his parents would find themselves launching into "Let it Go" before breaking off appalled)?

The questions stayed with her; an itch she couldn't quite reach.

She wanted to reassure herself that she wasn't cold. That she'd experienced heartache and joy.

That she knew how to love.

Rory's eyebrows rose in sudden realisation.

She set the cocoa on the side table and walked over to her closet. Using the chair as a step, she shifted the piles of books on top of it to one side and reached to the very back until she could feel the edges of her Rory box.

She wasn't quite sure when she'd started thinking of it that way.

When she and Dean had broken up the first time, Lorelai had made her keep all the things he'd given her, all the things that reminded her of him, and called it her Dean box. Over the years she had started putting other things in, too, things from other parts of her life, other memories, other relationships. (She'd also taken a few things out over the years as well – turns out corn starch could get weevils. Gross.)

Somewhere along the way it had evolved from her "Dean" box into "all her most important things" box. But Rory box was quicker to say.

Placing the box on the floor, Rory retrieved her mug and sat down beside it; she crossed her legs and started sifting through its contents.

A copy of Hep Alien's critically acclaimed yet sadly underperforming EP.

A Chilton flag.

A Polaroid of an unbelievably young Lorelai, tired but smiling and holding newborn Rory.

A copy of the first newspaper her grandpa had given her.

A beautiful but way too fusty brooch that was her grandma's.

Beautiful things. Precious memories. But they weren't really what she was looking for.

She didn't doubt her love for her family or friends.

It was the other kind of love she doubted, the other stuff that she needed to look at.

The boy stuff.

Not that there was so much of that in there. Rory hadn't really been in many relationships, and of those few she had been in, not all of them were box-worthy.

But three were.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for one particular object; it was by far the largest.

She traced the rocket's shape, awash with memories, good and bad.

A coffee cart apology, a double date at Martha's Vineyard, a moonlit picnic on a roof...

Stealing a yacht from a marina, a public proposal that embarrassed them both, a chilly, uncertain goodbye...

The rocket had promised a forever kind of love, no matter how long it took, but in the end, Logan hadn't been willing to wait.

Watching him walk away had been highly painful.

Though not as painful as when he left her for London.

That separation had happened at the height of their love, a separation that neither of them had wanted but that had ultimately been his choice. A choice she couldn't blame him for.

But he'd blamed her for hers.

Maybe if she'd been less practical, more gooey – less cold, more warm – she would have said yes to his proposal...

Had he doubted she was capable of love in that moment?

Maybe.

Her uneasy fingers set the rocket to one side and went looking for more evidence.

The second object she dug out was a book, the only object of its kind in the box. Rory had a case of books in her apartment and shelves upon shelves still at Lorelai's, but only one book had made it into the box.

It was her copy of Howl; the first book she'd lent to Jess.

She flicked through the pages and felt a jolt of recognition at the Biro scrawl.

She remembered the rush of giddiness she'd felt when she confronted him and realised this brooding bad boy possessed a literary soul, not to mention an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of pop culture.

He'd been witty in that conversation, too – but he'd also been surly, unpleasant and occasionally downright rude. But when had that ever stopped a teenage girl developing feelings?

She hadn't known it at the time but in that moment of confrontation, a strong tug of attraction had been born, and its hold on her had only increased over time.

At 28, she felt the echo of it, but for the first time she also recognised the supreme douchiness of writing notes all over someone else's book.

Shaking her head slightly, she smiled and put it to one side.

She had to dig around to find the third object. It must have shifted to the bottom when she got the box down.

She saw the medallion first, poking out from under a scrap of fabric – the curtain from the potting shed where she and Lorelai had first lived – and took hold of it to pull the bracelet free.

This time she didn't have the shock of coming on it unawares, but her heart still lurched within her, and for the life of her she could not say whether it was with pleasure or pain.

She was halfway to putting it on, then paused, biting her lip.

The last time she'd worn this bracelet she'd been Dean's girl – at least in name.

It felt hypocritical to put it on again.

She'd been so busy falling for Jess and refusing to admit it, she hadn't even noticed the bracelet had gone missing.

She'd felt so awful when she realised – that she'd been so careless with something he'd gone to so much effort over. Something she'd once loved so much.

But she still hadn't admitted the truth until Dean forced her to, the truth of her attraction to Jess – the truth of her betrayal. A truth symbolised by the fact if she'd really loved Dean she would have noticed as soon as the bracelet was lost.

Even better, if she'd really loved Dean, she wouldn't have lost it in the first place as she wouldn't have been with Jess.

The bracelet was a physical reminder of how badly she'd treated him.

With Jason's words still stinging her ears, she teetered on the edge of a serious shame spiral.

She didn't like to think about those years too much. She hadn't exactly covered herself with glory, having an affair with a married man. It hadn't felt that way at the time; it hadn't felt like an affair. More a continuation of a connection, a connection she never should have broken.

To her, he hadn't been someone else's husband, hadn't been someone else's anything.

He was just Dean.

Her Dean.

Thinking about it, seven years later, she dropped her head in her hands.

Dwelling on Dean, on how she'd treated him, on how they'd treated others, was a fast-track ticket to Self-Loathing Central.

She'd grown quite well-practised at forcing those thoughts to one side so she gently placed the bracelet back in the box, then sat back on her heels, looking pensive.

No other guy had touched her heart the way those three had. Each in their own way had left a permanent mark.

And if you asked them whether Rory Gilmore had really loved them, what would they say?

How would they speak of her?

And what did it say that no else had come close to making a dent in the five years since?

Was she stuck? Trapped? Doomed never to move on from them?

Was that where that constant feeling of restlessness came from..?

And if she was stuck, what would it take to move forward?

* * *

Luke was settling LJ leaving Rory and Lorelai to settle down for a highly-anticipated movie marathon.

They made it thirty-two minutes into the new Carrie movie before Lorelai ejected the DVD and forcibly Frisbee'd it across the room.

"Not even the fabulous Miss Moretz could save that dreck-fest." She shook her head in disgusted disappointment and dug back into the bowl of candy to comfort herself.

"It really did reach new heights of mediocrity," Rory agreed.

Lorelai crossed her legs lotus style and turned to face her, pointing with a milk dud for emphasis. "This is the problem with Hollywood today. They never have fresh ideas anymore – all they do is remake things." Rory cocked her head, considering. "Total Recall – Tron – Godzilla – they all sucked!" She held up a hand. "And don't even get me started on the travesty that was the Bacon-less 2011 Footloose."

"The Departed was a remake of the movie Infernal Affairs," Rory pointed out. "Ocean's Eleven was originally made in the sixties. If Hollywood never did remakes, we wouldn't have Cape Fear or Dirty Rotten Scoundrels _or_ ," she played her trump card, "An Affair to Remember."

Lorelai blinked, mouth falling open. "Seriously? That was a remake?"

Rory nodded. "Yeah, of the little known 1939 movie Love Affair. It was the same director both times – I guess he needed a second go at it to get it right."

Lorelai was looking startled. "You build a compelling case, Counsellor."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Rory smiled smugly.

"You also managed to out manic-talk me. I'm proud."

"Well, it's an important topic. And maybe an important sociological point…" she added meditatively

"You lost me, sport." Lorelai had a Red Vine hanging out her mouth; she hoovered it up like spaghetti, looking at Rory in inquiry.

"Why is going backwards always seen as such a bad thing? Sometimes it's good to reflect – essential, even. It's called hindsight. Learning from your mistakes – learning, period."

"Those who do not learn their history are doomed to repeat it?"

"Exactly!" Rory gestured wildly with her spoon and nearly lost the cookie dough on it. "Or at least… doomed to repeat it with all the same mistakes in."

She seemed to have lost Lorelai, however, whose lips were pursed in thought. "Is that a Peewee Herman quote?"

"George Santayana," Rory replied.

"That was my next guess," she said glibly, but then her eyes narrowed in that disconcertingly perceptive fashion of hers. "So, exactly which boy mistake are you thinking about, kid?"

Luke came back in the room before Rory could reply, before she could even think about what she was going to say, and they fell silent by unspoken agreement.

Well, they fell silent by Lorelai standards, which meant she started talking again two seconds later.

"Honey, LJ said his first phrase today!"

Luke looked up quickly, eyes kindling with excitement. "He did?"

Lorelai nodded vigorously. "Yep. He said," her voice switched to high-pitched and piping, "Lorelai was right about Pauly Shore."

Luke's face immediately fell into its familiar lines of grumpy annoyance. "He did not!"

Lorelai pursued him from the room, determined to prove her point.

Rory sucked thoughtfully on her spoon.

A plan was beginning to take shape.

* * *

The lounge was comfortable but plush; rich yet tasteful; modern but with a touch of old money.

It was her first time in the building, but her surroundings felt oddly familiar.

Logan was nowhere in sight, but she could see him in every line of the interior, could see his taste woven into the décor.

More concerningly, she could see touches of Mitchum Huntzberger, an impression not helped by the fact that very surname was proudly emblazoned above the receptionist's head in flowing script – though it then ran head-first into the blocky, artfully deconstructed second word.

Huntzberger Productions was one of the big players in the online media community; it had started life as a modestly successful Youtube channel which, following careful and canny advertising, went viral and branched off into its own highly successful digital channel.

These days it was a parent company to multiple online subsidiaries and was known for having managed to corner both the tweener and the millennials market.

But it wasn't these accolades making her twitch, impressive as they were.

Rory smoothed down her knee-length skirt – which in horrifying hindsight was horribly Lois Lane and could she have been any more on-the-nose? – and tried to calm her jittery nerves.

There was no reason for her knees to be shaking. True she'd had four coffees before coming out – her version of Dutch courage – but that was no reason for her body to freak out.

"Ms. Gilmore?" The genteel tones of the receptionist cut through her spiralling thoughts. "Mr. Huntzberger will see you now."

"Right." Rory nodded at her brightly, then silently told her legs to get up.

They ignored her.

There was a polite but puzzled pause.

"...The elevator is over there. You'll want the top floor."

"Mmmhmm." Rory tried to smile then stopped abruptly when she realised it was in danger of becoming a Joker rictus.

Oh, God, what had she been thinking?

It had all seemed so straightforward before she got here.

Another pause.

"Did you... did you need anything else, Ms. Gilmore?"

"Proper mastery over my motor functions would be nice," Rory mumbled.

With a heroic effort, she bit her lip and heaved her protesting legs to an upright position. To her boundless relief, and against expectation, they held her weight.

She promised them a cookie later for good behaviour and, aware of the receptionist's curious gaze, raised her chin and walked to the elevator.

The short yet terribly long ride up was accompanied by a tinkling instrumental song she recognised as the channel's theme tune.

Her brain pointed out the dire consequences of the elevator breaking down and being stuck with the earworm ad nauseum.

She told her brain to shut up.

The doors opened into a penthouse office. Where the lobby had hinted at Logan, this room yelled him from the rooftops.

Of course the fact he was standing in the centre of it added to the effect.

His hands were in the pants pockets of a very sharp royal blue suit, a casual pose the tension in his shoulders didn't quite uphold. He'd stopped highlighting his hair so it was a darker shade of honey than she remembered. It suited him, she decided, and was far more in keeping with his old money surroundings.

"Hi, Logan." She smiled uncertainly, shoulders curling over even more than usual.

The appointment had been made through his secretary and she'd taken it as a good sign that he'd agreed to meet her, but there was the faint fear she couldn't quite quash that he had only done so because that way he could yell at her in person.

"Hello, Rory." His voice was well-modulated as always, smooth as molasses and with the same tinge of bitterness.

Oddly, it had the effect of banishing her nerves. Now she was here she could work to undo it.

Now she was here she was determined to fulfil her mission.

Logan blinked. "What mission?"

Whoops. It appeared she had spoken out loud. "Um..." She shifted from foot to foot, looking cagey then blurted it out in a rush. "I'm here on a pilgrimage."

Logan's brows knit together. "Paul Bunyan or John Wayne?"

The wordplay as much as the note of amusement in his tone made her relax a little.

"Paul Bunyan," she confirmed. "It's a pilgrimage to become a better person. I want to apologise for my mistakes – and learn from them."

Logan cocked his head. "And I'm one of your mistakes?" The tinge of bitterness was back.

"No! That's not what I meant. Being with you wasn't a mistake but I think maybe the way things ended was..."

"That was your choice, Ace." Her heart stuttered slightly at the nickname; hearing it was like a hug from the past but the the acerbity sharpening the edges was less fun.

Then the words registered and she couldn't help the shaft of annoyance that went through her.

That wasn't fair.

"Logan, I... I know I hurt you, and I hate that I embarrassed you, but you were the one who ended things. Not me. You were the one who walked out my life and said it had to be all or nothing. I wasn't ready for marriage, and at 23 that's okay. Actually, at 28, 38 or 88 that's okay. It's not fair to be mad at someone for not being ready."

He exhaled long and deep and rubbed his forehead, shoulders dropping and tension seeming to dissipate. "No, you're right. It's not. I know that. I knew that then. I just… I didn't want to lose you. So I was a jerk." A smile flickered. "Then and now."

Rory remained silent. She couldn't see any good way to respond to that. In the end, he _had_ lost her. Through pushing too hard.

Logan chuckled ruefully, running a hand through his hair. He took a step forward. "Look... how about we start this again?"

Rory smiled. "Sounds good."

"Here." He gestured to a couch to one side. "Sit down. Please." Rory complied. "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure." She nodded.

He walked over to the mini-bar – a mini-bar! - and busied himself with the state-of-the-art De'Longhi. "We have a wonderful iced tea but I know you well enough to know that's not gonna cut it." He presented her with a cup of straight-up Americano, as God intended, and settled himself on the opposite end of the couch, one arm stretched out along the top.

Rory hummed her approval and took a careful sip, determined not to spill any on the pristine cream surface.

"So..." He hooked his left ankle over his right knee, legs pointing towards her. "You called my secretary. You knew where to find me." There was just enough inflection there for it to be a question, but she waited. "The power of Google?"

"I'd have to be living under a rock not to know about Huntzberger Productions," Rory pointed out. "Even if I wasn't in media myself." Logan inclined his head, neither modestly nor in arrogance, just a simple acknowledgement of the truth of her words. Then her blurt reflex took over (thanks a lot, Lorelai): "Actually, I already knew where you were."

"You did?"

Rory nodded. "You moved back from California in 2009, formed a venture capitalist conglomeration using the family name, with Finn, of all people – though considering his gambling habits I guess it kinda makes sense – made your first million by the end of the financial year and immediately invested it in a new online channel." She gestured at their surroundings. "This one."

Logan looked deeply pleased. Or deeply smug. The two were often interchangeable with him. "You been keeping track of me, Ace?"

Rory shrugged, refusing to be embarrassed. "Of course."

"And what did you think?" He propped his temple on his fist.

"Honestly, I was a little worried... When I saw the company name I was worried that maybe you'd given in and gone back to your dad."

"Yeah, you and he never did really hit it off, did you?" He chuckled ruefully again. "I don't blame you – he really was an asshole to you."

"That's not why I was worried," Rory corrected. "I was worried for you – you were so much more than he thought you were and I was worried if you worked for him those differences would be ground out of you and you wouldn't be you anymore, and you wouldn't be happy."

A slow smile dawned on his face, spreading until it warmed his eyes. "Well, you didn't need to worry – it was a business decision, nothing more. I needed some collateral to whitewash the Prism Active setback. In business, reputation is everything and the Huntzberger name is basically white collar royalty." The smile became a smirk. "Just because I'd never willingly work with the old fox doesn't mean I won't trade on his reputation. That's just good sense."

Rory nodded again, concealing her amusement. Right now he sounded more Emily Gilmore than Mitchum Huntzberger, but she didn't think he would appreciate the comparison.

She decided to divert her playfulness into another topic. "So how about me?" she asked.

"What about you?" Logan leaned in slightly, eyes still twinkling.

"Did you have to Google me before our appointment?"

His smile dimmed slightly. "Rory..."

"Oh." He hadn't kept tabs on her. He didn't have a clue what she'd been up to. "Oh, that's okay."

"I know enough. Enough to know you're just as brilliant as I always said you were," he said softly, and it took some of the string from it. "I just... had to step away. To live my life, I needed some time without you in it."

"I get it." She nodded. And she did. It still smarted like a bitch, but she did get it. And as the master of compartmentalising herself – hi, shame spiral! – she really wasn't in a position to criticise. "Well." She laughed a hectic little laugh. "Considering where we're sitting right now I'm sure you don't need me to say it, but I hope you're really proud of yourself. Of what you've achieved."

"Right back at you, kid." He grinned at her.

"Oh, I'm not quite at penthouse level yet," she said deprecatingly.

"You will be." There was no room for doubt in that tone.

Her mouth crooked in a shy half-smile. His gaze alighted there and stayed.

"Why d'you really come here, Rory?"

Her brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

He was back to propping his head on his fist, and his eyes were very warm and his tone was very sure. "Well, you ask to meet up out of the blue, you say you're here to correct the mistakes of the past and," his intonation suggested this was the clincher, "you also said you thought us ending was a mistake."

Oh. _Ohhhhhh_.

He thought...

She hesitated, but she owed it to him to be honest. "I meant the way we ended was a mistake. We never really said goodbye. Things were left... kinda open-ended. Our relationship deserved more than that. It deserved a – a proper acknowledgement."

"You mean a proper ending?"

She hesitated. Did she?

She shook her head and set her coffee down. "No. It was more than that... It just all happened so fast and before I knew it, we were over, and you were angry, and I was hurt and we never even really said goodbye... I never got to tell you how much you meant to me. And you did, Logan." She leant forward, trying to convey her sincerity with her eyes, her raised hands. "You really did. I wanted to tell you that you meant a lot to me. That I really did love you; it just wasn't the right timing."

"How about now? Is now the right timing?" Rory hadn't realised her eyes had popped wide like a cartoon character until Logan cracked up. "I'm not proposing, Ace. I'm asking you on a date."

"Oh." She shuddered with relief and tucked her hair behind her ears to buy some time.

She couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Logan hadn't walked away, if they'd stayed together. Long distance relationships didn't have great track records, but… some made it. Would theirs have?

They would never know. But maybe they didn't need to – they both lived in New York now. If... if they were together, it wouldn't have to be long distance anymore...

Her heart stuttered uncertainly. She'd come here determined to break the patterns of the past. What if she was just repeating them?

"You mean like... we could go for dinner?"

"Actually, I was more thinking lunch. It just so happens I have a window free today."

"Today?" she gulped, eyes darting round the room as she tried to make sense of her thoughts.

"Well, you know what they say, no time like the present…" He smiled his cocky smile of old, the one that had infuriated her when she first met him and gradually led to warmer feelings over time.

Very warm feelings…

It plucked at her memories, stroked through her senses, and a ripple of feeling went through her, not as strong, not as devastating as it once had been, but still present. Like a dwindling echo.

How often did that happen to her? she reminded herself. How often did she really respond to a guy?

Only three times, so far, and here was one of them, sat in front of her, asking for a date.

"Or we could just skip the meal and go straight to dessert," he murmured, his voice much closer than she was expecting.

She turned her head.

And was suddenly being kissed.

Rory froze in shock.

It had been a long time since she'd been surprised by a kiss.

In fact, the last person to take her by surprise this way was Dean. Her first kiss with Dean all those years ago…

She shivered as the memory poured through her, increasing the... warmer feelings Logan's smile had started.

An internal voice, that sounded a lot like Lane's, hesitantly spoke up: Er, Rory, should you really be thinking about another guy while you're kissing this one?

Logan used his lips to gently prise hers apart and his tongue glided inside. The ripple of feeling reared up again, the echo a little stronger this time.

For a moment, she gave into it, widening her jaw to deepen the kiss; she sucked a breath in through her nose and took his aftershave in with it.

It was the same scent he'd worn when they were together.

The rush of the familiar should have strengthened the echo, increased that ripple of feeling. Instead it was a like a circuit being broken.

She pulled her head back and leaned away.

"There's the Ace I remember." Logan smiled, arms enclosing her back, trying to draw her back in.

She shook her head, stopping him in his tracks. His arms loosened. "Logan, I'm sorry. I can't… I can't do this."

"You were doing it. You _are_ doing it," he pointed out. The sexy smirk was back. She shook her head again, and he sighed, though it sounded fond. "Okay, give me one good reason why not?"

She hesitated, trying to marshal her thoughts; he started leaning in again and the blurt reflex made another appearance.

"Proust!" she near-yelled, causing him to lean back with a slightly pained expression.

"What?"

"Did you ever read Proust?" she tried again.

The exasperated look on his face was also pretty familiar but much less sexy than the smile had been. "Yes, Rory, of course I read Proust and I know you live and die by your books but is this really the best time to be discussing French literature?"

"Just... bear with me. You know when he eats the madeleine in In Search of Lost Time?"

Logan was nodding slightly impatiently. "And he's swept up in a tidal wave of memory. Proust was describing what scientists later proved: smell and taste are the most evocative recall trigger we have. So... what? You telling me my smell set off a bad memory? Like, something I did when we were together?"

"No – no, not all." She rushed to reassure him. "It's not something you did. It's something _I_ did."

"Okay, you're going to have to elaborate on that, Ace."

"Logan… being with you was great. So great. It made me explore a side of myself I maybe never would have without you. I got to be reckless and giddy and... and live without consequences. At least for a while. And you made me see that it's possible to be rich and not be a bad person. It's like... like you gave me a glimpse into the life I might have had if I'd grown up with an Emily Gilmore, rather than a Lorelai Gilmore." Logan was frowning, but more in concentration than annoyance, she thought. "You gave me the moon – and I loved you for it. But the choices I made within that weren't always so great and, unlike you, I carried on making bad choices."

"What do you mean?"

"The thing is, Emily Gilmore is wonderful, and she is a part of me, and I'm grateful for that, but Lorelai... Lorelai Gilmore is my hero. And Lorelai Gilmore earned everything she got. She didn't want the world on a plate. She wanted to discover it for herself, and she strived and fought to get it. I'm not saying that being rich means you can't still do that – I mean, look at what you've achieved – but me... I wasn't doing that anymore. I wasn't pushing myself and somewhere along the way... somewhere along the way I think I stopped seeing things as a gift, or a privilege, and saw them as a right. My right. And that's not okay." She paused for breath, to allow him a chance to speak. But he was silent, studying her, something like understanding on his face. "Who I am now is partly because of you, but who I am now is not who I was then. The girl you loved, she doesn't exist anymore. And the boy I loved… he's changed, too. And maybe that's sad in some ways, but it's also great in others. And… and I like who I am now better than who I was then," she confessed softly.

There was a long pause.

"You're saying you've changed," he summarised. She nodded. "You're saying you've changed, and I've changed, and we no longer fit together." She nodded again and Logan's serious expression lightened; his tone turned teasing. "See how I said that with half the words at a tenth of the speed?"

She couldn't help laughing, and the tension of the moment was gone.

There was a beat where they just smiled at each other. Logan's gaze roved over her face as if trying to memorise it. Then he stood up and held his hands out with old-fashioned courtesy. She laid her palms in his and he gently tugged her to her feet. He let one hand go but retained his hold on the other.

"Well, Rory Gilmore, I guess this is one stop you can cross off your pilgrimage. Mission accomplished."

She smiled shyly. "Really?"

"Definitely." He leaned in and kissed her on her cheek, light but lingering.

When he pulled back, there was a familiar smirk on his face.

"So the girl I loved is gone…" Rory nodded, mouth twisting guiltily. "She's a different person from the freshman I met all those years ago…" Logan continued, tone shifting. Her brows drew together, wondering where he was going with this. "So... can I take it that means she's now the kind of girl who could have a no-strings attached affair?" He twinkled cheekily at her.

She was surprised into a laugh. "I guess anything's possible." She turned to walk away.

He called after her. "So, you'll let me know if a window opens up?"

She pressed the button for the elevator and turned to face him. "I'll have my people call your people."

Her last glimpse of him before the doors closed was a heartfelt grin, rueful but fond.

* * *

Rory was an amazingly good liar.

She'd always thought she kind of sucked at it; Lorelai could crack her like an egg within seconds when she was a child.

But turned out when it came to lying to herself, she was the queen.

If she'd thought Logan was hard, seeing Jess here, now, was forcing all sorts of feelings to the surface she'd done a damn good job of convincing herself weren't there.

Of the two of them, she would have expected her guilt to be greater with Logan.

Unlike Jess, he'd been an exemplary boyfriend (once they officially got together at least). Attentive and romantic; showering her in presents.

Yes, he'd been a playboy, but he'd never been a bad boy. Not like Jess.

He'd always been straight about what he felt – even if it was to tell her he didn't feel what she did.

Jess had yanked her backwards and forwards for years, bailed when she needed him, pushed when he shouldn't, and then finally dropped the L-word at the worst moment possible.

So why was she watching him autograph books at a distance feeling like guilt was eating a hole through her stomach?

Here's why.

Jess had been the Bad Boy, but she'd been the Worst Girl.

She was the one who'd loved two boys and kept both on a string for two years because she couldn't choose between them.

She was the one who'd gone to see him in this very store, flirted and talked like she was single, never letting on her heart was with Logan.

She was the one who'd kissed him out of spite.

Jess may have broken her heart, but she'd broken his right back.

That put them on an even level.

A thought whispered that even levels can make for good foundations.

Her heart stuttered with uncertainty.

She looked up... and he was gone.

Panicking, her eyes darted round the store, desperate to locate him. No, no, no! She needed to do this now! While she still had her courage.

"You know, stalking is illegal in all fifty states..."

Instead of jumping, she relaxed. He sounded just as he had the last time they'd been here. Calm and hate-free. "Oh, shoot, and here I just bought some night vision goggles." She turned to face him.

"It's daytime," Jess pointed out.

She linked her hands behind her back. "Well, I like to be prepared."

He shook his head in mock disgust. "Such a Girl Scout..."

She laughed and stepped forward, leaning into a quick hug. "Hi, Jess."

"Hi, Rory." She could hear the smile in his voice.

She stepped back. "So how come you stopped signing?

"Even mid-level success authors are allowed comfort breaks. It's statutory."

"Oh, that's good. Glad to hear the Constitution's working out for you."

His eyes flitted down to her empty hands. "You're not carrying a coffee–"

"You really are Sherlock Holmes and Arthur Conan Doyle all rolled into one, ain'tcha?"

He smiled but ignored her wisecrack. "–which means you must be jonesing for your next fix."

"I could go for a cup of joe" she agreed.

"Well, it just so happens this place doubles as a coffee house."

"Well, imagine that."

"And I have a special in with the owner." He dropped his voice in a conspiratorial manner. "So I may be able to get you pastry discounts."

"Is your special in with the owner that you are, in fact, the owner?" Rory queried.

Jess remained po-faced. "Damn. No one can know my secret identity."

Rory traced a cross over her heart. "I'll take it to the grave."

* * *

"So, why are you here, Rory?"

Rory startled slightly at this unconscious echoing of Logan. The expression in his eyes was different, though, not to mention the eyes themselves.

Logan's were a warm golden brown that could turn to a smoulder; Jess's were deeper and darker. They could blaze with temper and heat, but for brown eyes they could also be surprisingly hard.

Right now his eyes held all their old piercing, but they lacked the belligerence that had once gone with it. "The last time I saw you I kinda got the impression you didn't really want to talk."

He was talking about the wedding. They'd both been there, of course.

He'd been Best Man and she'd been Maid of Honour. But she'd been dating Riley at that point – AKA attempt number two to fall for a guy who wasn't Logan, Jess or Dean – so she'd gotten Lane to run interference to make sure they weren't left alone.

Truth be told, she hadn't trusted herself not to be pulled into old behaviour.

Let's face it, she didn't have a great track record where he was concerned.

Twice she'd cheated on boyfriends with him.

Something she hadn't really wanted to acknowledge at the time.

But part of the pilgrimage was self-reflection. If she could recognise the source of the pattern, maybe she could change it.

Maybe there was a reason for her actions... maybe there was a reason she had basically sabotaged – or tried to sabotage – two relationships with him. (Maybe there was an excuse.)

Maybe all roads led back to Jess.

She considered his question; several responses came to mind.

She chose the easiest one.

"I wanted to thank you."

His eyes narrowed. "For what?"

"For giving me a kick up the patootie when I needed it."

One eyebrow went up. "Patootie?"

"Oh – sorry. Lorelai and Luke have banned saying any salty words in the house since LJ started mimicking everything around him like a parrot. Well, I say Mom and Luke – Lorelai was actually all for it after a visit to Hartford." She rolled her eyes. "There was a Grandma incident..."

Jess's mouth twisted in wry amusement. "I bet."

A few beats went by.

"So which of my heroic acts inspired this thanks? Slaying the Minotaur? Finding Nemo? Or finally wiping out that last stubborn point one percent in the war against bacteria?"

Rory pretended to consider it. "Well, these are all praiseworthy exploits..." She took a deep breath. "But what I actually wanted to thank you for was not letting me drift."

Jess's eyes narrowed again. "You're gonna have to un-sub some of this text for me, Rory."

"Leaving Yale," Rory clarified. "I was in such a rut, making," she rolled her eyes at herself, _"really_ bad choices. And if you hadn't challenged me, maybe I would have stayed that way. Or maybe I would have realised what I was doing too late and messed up my whole degree. So, yeah – a huge and heartfelt thank-you, Jess."

His mouth quirked again. "Well, right back at you. I was a snot-nosed punk when I first came to Stars Hollow and probably would have stayed that way if it wasn't for you."

"Hmmm..." Rory pretended to consider this. "So maybe we both saved each other? Maybe we're both superheroes?"

"Makes sense to me." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "But I'm not wearing tights for anyone. One Renaissance weirdo in the family's enough."

They both smiled.

"So... how is life going for Super Rory?" he asked. "Are things... fixed this time?"

She met his eyes and immediately knew what he meant. "Yeah. Yeah, that's fixed this time. Definitely."

He pursed his lips. "And are you... fixed with anybody else?"

Her heart stuttered again. "No – no other fixers. Just me."

He nodded thoughtfully, then his smile shifted to the half-smirk she remembered so well. "So… we're both superheroes. We both saved each other from terrible fates. Neither one of us is fixed with someone else... why aren't we together again?"

"That is a good question, Mr. Mariano."

Then his lips were on hers and she couldn't say who had leant forward first, and it was sweet and lovely and wrapped in nostalgia, and this time there was no slice of guilt that she was kissing him for the wrong reasons…

But that also meant there was nothing to distract her from a rather perplexing realisation.

Kissing Jess was like watching a childhood movie you'd once adored; one you knew would be a lifelong companion and which would always have a place in your heart. But one that no longer had the power to excite you.

An internal voice immediately objected: how could that be possible?

She and Jess had been nothing but sparks.

Sparks of attraction, of desire, of conflict, of debate.

He'd been a jerk, and she'd loved him for it.

He wasn't a jerk anymore, so… shouldn't she love him even more?

She realised she'd stopped moving her lips. She realised he'd stopped moving his.

They pulled apart and stared at each other.

"Huh." He looked non-plussed.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"Well, this is a surprise."

"Yep."

"Didn't we used to have major sparks?"

"We did," she confirmed.

"I always figured, after we both got our acts together, we'd… get our acts together." He sounded baffled.

She tucked her hair behind one ear. "I'm as surprised as you are."

He crossed his arms over his chest then immediately uncrossed them to gesture with one hand. "On paper we make so much sense, right? Similar yet different. Good at pushing each other. Your ying stabilising my yang, and my yang making you loosen up. All that crap." He shoved his bangs off his face, looking frustrated. "I mean here we are, kid from wrong side of the tracks with a bad attitude who falls for the small town girl and hurts her, but she slowly causes him to be a better man. Several false starts and false romantic leads later they reunite, kiss and live happily ever after. I mean, this is literary gold we're crapping on here!" Somewhere along the way he'd started laughing; so had she. "We're Luke and Lorelai the next generation! How do we not end up together?" he asked in amused disbelief.

Something crystallised inside Rory, and she stopped laughing. She met his gaze and spoke from the heart. "I'm not Lorelai."

The smirk turned wistful at the edges; he nodded. "And I'm not Luke… so I guess we're not the perfect fit after all. We just look enough like them to have fooled us both for awhile."

Rory didn't know what to say to this, so she said something true: "I really do care about you, Jess."

"I really do care about you, too," he replied and pulled her into another hug.

This one lasted longer.

They moved back, and there was a pause, neither quite knowing what to say.

Awkwardness as much as her mother's blood had Rory bumping her fist against his shoulder. "Well, I always knew you'd turn out great, champ."

He rolled his eyes at her but then smiled, catching her hand and holding it between his. "I always knew you'd turn out amazing."

"Can we please keep in touch this time?" She didn't know how badly she wanted that until the question slipped out.

"Definitely."

"And can I please have a signed copy of your new almost bestseller?" she continued, without skipping a beat. "I plan to flog it on ebay."

Jess looked outraged. "You Philistine!"

"Hey, superheroes gotta eat."

* * *

Her third stop on the pilgrimage was way more problematic.

Emotionally and logistically.

There were only six days left until Christmas and she still hadn't found him.

Successful authors and Huntzbergers might as well have microchips; tracking them down was almost disappointingly easy.

Ludicrously tall, modest ex-boyfriends whose family had moved away from Stars Hollow five years before? They were much harder to find.

But then... perhaps subconsciously she didn't really want to find him. Perhaps there was too much pain there, too much water under the bridge.

Very dark, very murky water.

He was the one who had most reason to hate her. He was also the one with the least reason to let her put things right. (Or try to.)

In the end she stumbled on the information quite by accident.

* * *

Lorelai's car had started making a bizarre crunching noise when the engine turned over, something she refused to tell Luke about as she said he'd make her get rid of it.

Rolling her eyes, Rory had offered to sneak it over to Gypsy without Luke knowing. A suggestion Lorelai had enthusiastically gotten behind, even offering to lend her what she called "couture ninja gear" so she could remain undetected but still stylish.

Rory drove the car over to Gypsy's when she knew Luke was working a shift and explained the story in full. Gypsy looked deeply unimpressed but agreed to "keep it on the down-low".

She popped the hood and almost immediately located the problem. "There is a leprechaun in the intake port." Her voice was slightly muffled.

"Um... what?"

Gypsy re-emerged holding a small plastic figurine coated liberally in grease.

"See. A leprechaun. You can tell because he has a forked beard. Your mother is one chimichanga short of a picnic, you know that?"

Rory suppressed her laughter. "That would have been LJ, not Mom." She paused, considering. "Almost definitely."

Gypsy remained po-faced. "Lorelai's spawn did this?"

"Yep. Though... how the heck did he get it in there?" She peered into the engine to have a closer look.

Gypsy shrugged. "Necessity is the mother of invention." She cleaned the figurine off on a rag and handed it to Rory. "The car should be fine now."

"Thanks," Rory replied. "How much do we owe you?"

Gypsy made a dismissive gesture. "Forget it. It's Christmas."

"Thank you." Rory smiled a little wider.

"But if you did want to help me out with something..." Rory looked at her in inquiry. "I want to set up a website for the auto-shop. Figured now we're in the twenty-first century, I should probably go digital." Rory politely refrained from pointing out they were twelve years into the twenty-first century. "You write all of those blog thingies – I thought maybe you could help me out?"

"Of course!"

"Great. It wouldn't need to be anything fancy. I'm not trying to be Forester's Cars here."

Rory's brow furrowed. "Not trying to be what?"

"You know – that Dean kid who built you a car. His company. They have a very swanky website."

Rory's brain short-circuited.

"You know where he is?" she exclaimed. Then a split-second later. "He's a mechanic?"

Gypsy gave her a funny look and she tried to modify her appearance to casual interest.

"No – he runs a few garages over in Boston. He relocated there after his family moved away from Stars Hollow."

"You... you kept in touch?"

Gypsy shrugged. "Not really. But we're in the same business – it's kind of like the Mob. Everyone knows everybody."

"Right. Right." Rory nodded, trying to smile. But her mind was miles away. A hundred miles away in Boston, to be exact. Her fingers itched to Google. "Well, I'd be more than happy to help you with your website." She started walking backwards out the auto-shop. "In fact, I think I'm gonna go home and get started. Do some research."

Gypsy was looking amused. "Sure, Rory. You do that." Rory nodded and turned to flee. Gypsy's voice brought her up short. "Hey, Rory!" She turned back. "Say hi to Dean for me."

* * *

The second she was alone, Rory Googled the website.

Gypsy was right. It was pretty swanky as auto-shop websites went.

There were three garages in the state of Massachusetts, one in Worcester, one in Springfield and one in Boston. That's where the head office was.

She clicked on the reviews. All of them were four or five stars. Several of them directly praised the MD.

Dean Forester.

There. Now she knew.

He was successful. Independent.

Most likely happy.

There was no need to see him. In fact, he probably wouldn't want to see her.

She could let it go now.

The resolve to do so lasted a whole two days.

* * *

Like a hangnail she couldn't leave alone, Rory picked at her thoughts.

Her ability to compartmentalise had apparently deserted her.

She couldn't stop going over old ground. Couldn't stop dwelling on how things had ended with Dean.

She'd always been good at critical reading, and right now the story of her life was horribly clear.

Stars Hollow had blamed Dean entirely for the affair. Lane had been fair-minded enough to say it took two to cheat but even she thought Dean was more to blame; he was the one who had been married after all.

But Rory knew the truth.

The fault was hers. Not his.

And it had started way before the affair.

She'd given half her heart to someone else while she was still with him, but wouldn't admit it.

It was Dean who'd known her well enough to see through the lies she was telling, to herself and to others.

It was Dean who'd been brave enough to end it when she wouldn't.

It was Dean who walked away after she forced him to it.

He'd walked away… but she'd pulled him back.

Because even when they weren't together, even when she loved someone else, there were ties between them.

She'd pulled him back to her, because she couldn't bear to let him go.

Something that had become a recurring pattern.

Only the last time she'd pulled on that thread, it was already entwined with someone else.

* * *

She dialled the number with shaking fingers and almost lost her courage when a familiar voice answered, deepened by the passing of years.

"Hello, Forester's Cars. You're through to Dean, how can I help you?"

"Hi…" She paused to clear her throat of what felt like a giant frog squatting there. "Hi, Dean."

"Rory?" He spoke her name with something that might have been surprise or might have been fear.

"Yeah… Surprise, huh?" She laughed weakly, then slapped a hand to her head at her gaucherie.

"How did you get this number?" He sounded curious, rather than annoyed.

"Good old Yellow Pages," she joked. "Actually, it was good old Google but that doesn't have quite the same ring to it." She swallowed. "So the big cheese answers his own phone, huh? Nice to know the success hasn't gone to your head."

She smacked her head again. What the heck was she doing? They hadn't spoken in seven years, had parted badly, and she was teasing him about his success rather than praising him?

What was _wrong_ with her?

Thankfully, he chuckled. "Well, I may be the big cheese but I still muck in whenever I can. Kind of an executive grease monkey." He sounded happy. God, how long had it been since she'd heard Dean happy?

"Dean, that's great. That's so great." Warmth flooded Rory's chest. Equal parts relief and happiness.

"Thanks." There was a pause. "So... what can I do for you, Rory?"

That was a totally fair question. Which she had no idea how to answer.

"Um... I know this is gonna sound crazy but I'm… I'm on a pilgrimage."

"Um… what?"

"I decided that if I want to move forward, I need to confront the past. So… so I'm catching up with people from my past… and trying to put things right."

"Put things right?" He sounded bemused. "And you decided to call me?"

She nodded, forgetting he couldn't see. "Yeah. I figured a phone call was one-up on an email. I did consider other modes of communication. Social media… semaphore… message in a bottle. But the tide was out, and I couldn't find you on Facebook and... and I thought maybe it was less cowardly this way."

"Makes perfect sense." His voice held all its old amusement. "Actually, I'm kinda surprised you didn't just turn up. That's far more Gilmore."

"That was my first thought," she admitted. "But I didn't want to railroad you, and I figured it wouldn't be fair to just turn up and expect you to be ready to see me."

"Okay," he said. "Consideration noted and appreciated."

"So… what do you think?" She tried to keep the fear and hope out of her voice. "Would it maybe be okay if I came and saw you some time over the holidays? If that's okay with your girlfriend slash wife slash tiny adorable children, that is."

"No girlfriend. No wife.. No... tiny people." She released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Yeah. That… that sounds good, actually."

"Okay, good, cos I'm at the coffee shop across the street," she blurted in one long rush.

There was a burst of static on the line as he laughed out loud.

"Of course you are…"

"I know you're at work and probably really busy but I'm happy to wait on you, so if maybe you have a break at any point or maybe after you close up-"

He cut off her babbling. "Give me ten minutes."

* * *

Holy mother of mackerel.

Dean had always been beautiful, with his high cheekbones, cleft chin and adorable dimples but now... now it was like Michelangelo had taken a chisel to him, chipping away anything extraneous, anything that wasn't completely and utterly gorgeous.

Renaissance-esque hair was not helping the effect.

His eyes flitted round the coffee shop until he found her, and she waved nervously; he smiled, but it wasn't the smile she remembered, the one she'd longed to see without knowing it. It was a smile with years behind it. Friendly but uncertain.

It hit her like a bucket of cold water (which maybe wasn't a bad thing considering how she'd found herself reacting to him).

She stood to meet him as he walked over, only to discover it made little to no difference.

Even in her heeled boots, he towered over her.

He'd always towered over her.

Which was fitting considering the unequal ground between them.

Her breath caught again but for a different reason.

Here was the person she'd wronged more than any other.

Here was the person at the bottom of the shame spiral.

She swallowed.

"Hey."

"Hey..."

He sat down and took off his coat. She took that as a good sign – he wouldn't have done that if he'd been planning on racing off as soon as he could.

She only realised she was still standing, staring at him, when his expression became politely puzzled.

"Oh, right..." She gave a fake little laugh and sat down again. "I got you a drink." She gestured at the other mug.

"Thanks." It was a peppermint mocha; they had always been his Yuletide beverage of choice and she crossed her fingers that he still liked them.

She felt ridiculously pleased when his mouth curved in appreciation at the first sip.

"So..."

"So..." He continued looking her, not unnaturally expecting her to start talking now he was here. But she couldn't.

Words seemed to have frozen mid-formation in her throat. The pressure of using this time to say everything she wanted – needed – to say strangled any attempt to begin.

A few seconds that felt like hours crawled by. And she struggled to say something – anything – to break the stasis.

With a Herculean effort she pushed out a question.

"SowhyBoston?" True to form the words had emerged like a bullet from a gun with nothing in-between to distinguish them.

"...er, what?"

She forced herself to slow down and enunciate. "Why did you move to Boston?"

He blinked a little at the suddenness of the question but adjusted quickly.

"Honestly? No reason at all. I stuck a pin in a map."

She raised her eyebrows, half-shocked, half-impressed. "Seriously? Wow..."

"Yeah. I just... suddenly saw my whole life stretched out before me, mapped out. And I didn't like the destination. So I decided to change it."

"So, you opened a garage..."

"Well, not right away." His eyes crinkled a little, an echo of the smile she'd looked for and missed. "First of all I got a job as a grease monkey." Rory took a swig from her mug, trying to fight down images of Dean in overalls with oil smudged in aesthetically pleasing places."I kind of had some experience with building cars." He looked at her and she dropped her head, half-embarrassed, half-pleased. "So Hank – he ran the old garage that used to stand here – Hank agreed to take me on. I started taking evening classes and... well... it took a while, but I got a degree in Business and when Hank retired, I took over. Business got good... so I opened another shop, and then another..." He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed.

"You did all that in seven years..." She gazed at him, astounded.

He smiled a little, but not exactly as if he was amused. "Surprising, huh?"

She shook her head. "No – not at all. You've always been smart."

The smile turned warmer. "Well, nothing compared to the great Rory Gilmore..." She scrunched her nose. "Ah, come on. Freelance journalist. Celebrated blogger. And regular columnist for the New York Times Magazine."

"That's only a Sunday supplement," she mumbled, trying to conceal the rush of warmth she felt at this evidence he'd been following her career.

He looked even more amused. "Oh, so that wasn't a step in your grand plan to take over the broadsheet?" She bit her lip, and he chuckled. "Some things don't change..." His eyes gleamed, and the smile spread to a grin, an expression so familiar it felt like a pang of home-sickness. "Exhibit A." He nodded towards her mug. "Is that your fourth or fifth of the day?"

She shook her head. "This is eggnog."

Both his eyebrows shot up. "Don't tell me Rory Gilmore has given up her go-to vice? How will Lorelai cope?"

"I downed three espressos before you arrived," she confessed.

He suppressed another smile. "Figures."

She saw her opening, took a deep breath, and then regretted it when it made her voice quaver. "Speaking of vices…"

His hazel-green eyes pinned her in place. "Speaking of…?"

She blew the rest of the air out, ruffling her bangs. "Wow, this is hard…" He cocked his chin, silent and questioning. "What do you do when you have so many apologies to give you don't even know where to start? There really ought to be some kind of protocol in place. A pre-apology process…."

The eyes softened. "A p.a.p.?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, p.a.p.s should be submitted prior to the full hearing then the other party gets to say which order they would like the wrongdoer to apologise in."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Well, why don't we consider the phone call the p.a.p.?"

"Okay," she breathed, hugely grateful. "So… which channel would you like me to pursue first, Counsellor?"

He shook his head, sending leonine hair flying. "Rory… you don't have to apologise…"

She cut him off. "Yes. Yes, I do, Dean. People are always letting me off the hook. You always let me off the hook, and… and it's not right. It doesn't help me. Because… because if no one ever draws a line with me, how will I know when I'm on the wrong side of it? And there has to be consequences when you screw up, and there wasn't with Logan, and there weren't with my grandparents and there wasn't when I mistreated you, and that's how I lost a chunk of my life to mooching. And I hurt Logan, and I hurt Jess, and I hurt you… and all people ever say is that none of you were good enough for me. And… and if I ever wanna move forward, I have to break that pattern. I have to stop letting people let me make everything about myself and, _oh my God_! I'm doing it again right now! I'm making this apology about me!" She drew to a panting halt, eyes wide with horror.

Dean had given in to the smile hovering round his mouth. "Rory, calm down. It's okay."

"It's not okay." She shook her head repeatedly. "But I want it to be okay. So just let me apologise, okay?"

"Okay," he replied, then a beat later: "I think we may have just used up our quota of 'okays' for the day. Possibly for the week."

She refused to be distracted and continued speaking in a rush. "I'm sorry I treated you so badly, Dean. So many times, in so many ways. I'm sorry I hurt you with Jess. I'm sorry I hurt you with Logan. I'm sorry I ruined your relationship with Lindsay. Almost every bad thing I've ever done, I've done to you. And I am so, SO sorry." Her mouth had gone dry. She raised her mug to her lips with trembling hands.

"Hey." He dropped his chin and gazed up at her through his lashes. Her mind chose this totally inappropriate moment to point out how beautiful he was in that pose. "That's not all on you, Rory. And this isn't me letting you off the hook – yeah, some of that stuff is your fault. But not all of it. Not the Lindsay stuff. Not my marriage failing. I was the one who cheated, not you."

"But you wouldn't have…" she said. "You wouldn't have if I hadn't come back into your life and made you think you had feelings for me again."

His mouth turned rueful. "That didn't take much convincing. And there was no 'again' about it. I did still have feelings for you. I married Lindsay knowing I still had feelings for you." His mouth tightened. "She deserved better than that."

Rory nodded, eyes dropping, shame-faced. "She did."

His hand, huge and warm, rested on hers. "But, Rory, that also meant my marriage never would have worked anyway. Marrying someone because you want to get over someone else is pretty much the worst reason to get married ever. We both screwed up. We both did wrong. But you didn't ruin my life. You didn't ruin me. Behold me here, unruined." He gestured at himself.

"You're definitely not ruined," she agreed, fighting down another wave of supremely inappropriate feeling. What the hell was wrong with her? This was supposed to be about putting things right.

He took his hand away. "Besides, I'm the one who walked away in the end. I'm the one who ended things between us." The smile flickered again. "It's important for my male pride that you remember that."

A ghost of a smile flickered back. "That's true." The smile dropped again. "But that was my fault, too. I was flirting with Logan… flirting with a whole different lifestyle."

For the first time he looked annoyed. "Rory, you're in danger of making it about you again."

She blinked, eyes dragging back to his. "I am?"

"Yeah. By saying you drove me to it, by taking responsibility for every action I took, you're taking away my autonomy. It was my choice to walk away. For better or worse, it was my decision. I wanted to be gone, so I was. And I was better for it."

That stabbed deeper than anything else he'd said. She swallowed against the pain, determined not to show it and make things about her again.

She pulled her lips into a smile. "Behold you, unruined."

He nodded, relaxing back against the chair, tension easing. "Exactly. I needed to get out of Stars Hollow. Away from my mistakes. I needed to move on and try different things. I don't think I could have done that if I'd stuck around." She barely bit back from vocalising the thought that _she'd_ held him back. "I was carrying too much crap. Too much bitterness. I needed to get away." He hesitated, eyes running over her face. It reminded her of how carefully he would pick his words when they were together… when he was worried they might upset her. "It wasn't good for me being around you, Rory. The whole world thought I wasn't good enough for you and, wow, did they tell me about it. And I started to think they were right, that I wasn't good enough. That I couldn't make you happy." He smiled wryly. "And then I started acting like a giant ass as I tried to hang on to you. Twice. So… it was good that I went away. It was good that we weren't in each other's lives anymore."

Rory hung her head, staring at the table. His chin dropped again, puppy dog eyes fully engaged. (How could a guy be endearingly puppyish and ridiculously manly all at the same time?) "I think if we hadn't had that break, we couldn't be friends now."

A smile spread slowly over her face. "So we're friends now?"

He raised his cup. "You think I share festive beverages with just anybody?"

"Well, I heard some rumours. Apparently, you're quite the mocha minx."

He pulled a tragic face. "Damn. And I moved east to get away from that reputation..."

Rory's shook her head in commiserating fashion. "Some mud just sticks."

They smiled at each other.

Dean took another swallow of his drink then rolled back his eyes as if in bliss, pressing the mug to his cheek before gently kissing the side.

Rory laughed but felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

She really shouldn't have found that sexy.

Dean saved her from herself. "So, did you drive here from Stars Hollow or New York?"

"Stars Hollow," she replied.

"You're home for the holidays?"

She nodded. "Yeah, at least until New Year's."

He nodded slowly. "So... what now? What's the next stop on the Great Gilmore Pilgrimage?"

"Actually, it's the end of the line," she replied. "You were my last stop." She weighed her next words and went with the impulse: "I saved the best for last."

He smiled at her fully then, eyes lighting with warmth; her heart lurched within her, and this time it was more happy than painful.

It lurched again a moment later, this time with a thud of warning.

It was so easy around Dean.

Too easy.

Too easy to fall back into old patterns. Patterns where she felt secure and safe and loved… patterns that ended in her trashing his life.

Their eye contact held, the moment stretching out. One, two, three seconds went by.

Look away, she told herself, look away…

Dean's gaze was flicking over her face, a curious look of concentration on his.

Then his jaw tightened; he shook his head slightly.

And broke the eye contact.

"Well." Dean downed the last of his drink and placed the mug on the table. "I should probably get back. I need to finish off some figures, plus, I'm supposed to be flying to Illinois tomorrow and I've still got an Everest-sized pile of presents to wrap."

For the second time Rory bit back speech, swallowing her impulse to offer to help. Boundaries, she reminded herself.

"Oh, your family moved back to Chicago?" she asked, partly from inanity, partly because despite all her efforts not to, something in her wanted to stall him.

He nodded and got to his feet. Mentally chiding herself, she did the same. She might want to stay, but he clearly didn't.

And wasn't that just typical of her that of the three of them, the one that clearly wasn't interested in trying again – the only one that apparently didn't want to kiss her – was the one that she couldn't stop objectifying?

They silently gathered their belongings and headed out into the street, the sound of the door's bell a tinkling accompaniment.

Dean stuffed his hands into his wool coat and looked at her, brows still drawn together in a look of concentration that was just short of a frown. Then the look gave way to a smile.

"It was good to see you, Rory."

"It was good to see you, too." The words fell from her lips with the weight of truth.

Selfish words hovered behind them, longing to fall. Self-indulgent yearnings.

Requests to stay a little longer, talk a little more, meet up another time... She repressed them, but another impulse took hold, and this last one she couldn't resist.

Not when it might be her last chance.

She stepped forwards and linked her arms round his waist, squeezing him tight and ducking her head.

"Merry Christmas, Dean," she murmured against his chest, drinking in his scent and warmth and steadiness.

"Merry Christmas, Rory." His voice was soft.

She stepped away from the hug, away from temptation, and met his gaze.

Even more than his forgiveness, she'd wanted this. To see him standing tall. Whole and healed.

To see him happy was the best gift she could hope for.

So she gave him the best thing she could in return.

She walked away.

* * *

"Hey kid, how was your trip? How you feeling?"

Rory considered this. "Lighter." She smiled at her mom.

The shade of anxiety in Lorelai's eyes softened. Whatever she saw in her daughter's had reassured her.

Didn't mean she wouldn't grill her for every detail later, but for now she seemed content to let it go.

Rory had filled Lorelai in on the purpose of the pilgrimage, of course – the idea behind it if not every detail – but they'd both agreed not to mention it to Luke; he'd probably have started picking out china patterns – he'd never quite let go of the hope Jess and Rory would get back together – or possibly exploded at the news she was meeting up with Dean. He still had a tendency to turn into a surly bear on the rare occasions Dean's name came up.

Now more than ever, the injustice of that stabbed.

Speaking of Luke, she could hear ticked-off muttering coming from LJ's room ("Would you hold still for one second!") and what would have been a bellowed cussword if it hadn't swiftly been turned into "ship".)

Lorelai smiled beatifically.

"If you're looking for some entertainment, I'm about to wrestle LJ into his mittens. Actually, I'm gonna watch Luke wrestle him into them, which is way more fun. Last time he accidentally conked Luke in the hooter and I got to spread the rumour that Luke and Taylor had gotten into a fist fight over paint samples." Rory smiled. "Speaking of the Town Tyrant... You better get a move on. Carols in the square start in ten. Is Lane coming?"

Rory shook her head. "She's with Zach's parents until tomorrow."

"Oh, okay, But you're coming, right?"

Rory nodded. "Of course. I just need to do one thing first."

Lorelai looked curious but held her peace. "Okay, kid. We'll meet you there." And she hurricaned her way from the room the same way she'd come in.

Rory waited until she heard the front door close then dragged the Rory box down one last time.

This time she knew exactly what she was looking for.

* * *

An hour later most of the Stars Hollow residents had relocated to Luke's to warm up with cocoa.

Rory remained outside alone (though every so often she could feel Lorelai checking up on her, keeping a watchful eye from the diner's warmth).

She gazed up at the town Christmas tree, absent-mindedly noting Taylor had gotten his way this year, as it was topped with the angel and not the star. It was also covered in Stars Hollow residents' homemade decorations as part of the town competition that had been held that year.

It was beautiful yet quirky, just like the town it symbolised.

The town she'd always loved.

She smiled a little wistfully but repressed a sigh. Sighs were for people who felt heavy, and this was the lightest she'd felt in years.

She was back where she started; that could be deemed a failure, but it didn't feel that way. There was an advantage in coming full circle.

It meant you could start again.

And if she was doing it on her own, well, that was okay, too.

She'd finally found her way out of the shame spiral.

This time, she promised herself, this time she'd do it right…

The wind picked up; her hand raised to brush the hair from her eyes.

"Hey." A husky voice drifted on the breeze; her heart lurched with pure joy. "Nice bracelet."

 _fin_


End file.
